Fall Into You
by Cykotyks
Summary: Renji muses on top of a building with alcohol [a Renjicentric character study regarding his relationship with Ichigo  concrit welcome and requested]


**Disclaimer**: Bleach is Kubo Tite's. Absolut Vodka is owned by V&S Group. The song "Because I Want You" is Placebo's.  
**Warnings**: Nothing major, except for excessive alcohol and angsting. And general unrequited RenjiIchigo love (I admit to cliche, but this isn't something you normally see from me). And it's not beta'd (so feel free to nitpick, too).  
**Rating**: PG-13 for "adult themes" (I only used one semi-cuss word at the end there).  
**Notes**: This is more of a character study than anything. If there's one thing I want gauged in the reviews, it's how in character you think this is. If all you have to say amounts to no more than happy squealing because it's Renji or whatever, then don't bother. This is one of the few times that I'm specifically asking for constructive criticism, or even criticism in general. Be supportive, be cruel - I don't care as long as you're _intelligent_ with what you have to say (ie, if you're going to berate me, at least point out specifics so I know you're a credible human being).  
**Words**: 1614

* * *

Fall Into You

* * *

_Fall into you, is all I ever do.  
When I hit the bottle,  
'Cause I'm afraid to be alone.  
Tear us in two,  
Tear us in two.  
Tear us in two...  
Because I want you, too._

* * *

Renji knew he had a habit of getting annoying. He knew he could get clingy and whiny and needy, and he knew he could get obsessive and jealous and selfish. But he also knew that he had no right to demand people's undivided attention like that. He knew that everybody was allowed to choose who they were with, who they befriended, who they shared secrets with, and who they shared their love with. He knew that he never owned anything, especially not any_body_. He knew because even the one person whose attention he'd treasured had easily abandoned him. 

Well, he knew it hadn't been easy for her, but he still felt like he'd just been abandoned like some unwanted Christmas puppy. It had hurt, because the only person he had had left to trust had walked away, towards something bigger and better.

So he had wrapped up those feelings and put them in a box and buried them deep, not letting them be accessed so easily. No, those feelings were reserved, because he didn't want to be hurt again. He focused on his goals and distanced himself from people as best as he could. He would not, could not let himself get attached, because then those feelings would resurface, and then he would only be hurt again.

Oh, sure, he got along well with those he could call friends. He laughed and joked and hung out with them, but there was always a distance. His problems were his alone, not theirs. He did not, would not confide in them, because trusting them with his emotions was the first step into those buried feelings, the first step between "a friend" and "_his_ friend." He trusted them with his life, but not with his heart. His heart was his alone, and he knew that his guardedness intrinsically pushed people away, kept them back at a point he was comfortable with. But people always wanted to get closer, and the more they tried, the more guarded he became, until they gave up and walked away, like he knew they would. That was the point. As long as he knew that they would leave, he could push them away before they left him. So it would be on his terms, his knowledge. He couldn't be caught off guard again, because he was always expecting to be abandoned again.

But for the first time in a long time, that reassurance wasn't helping to quell his frustrations. Three nights in a row, a certain berry-head hadn't talked to him properly. A text message at around five that night, after he'd asked if he could call, told him that the boy would be out to dinner with his friends. Renji had innocently asked what time he'd be back, but only received a quick "dunno."

_Well, that's fine_, he'd told himself. _He has other friends. He'll talk to me when he gets back._ So Renji had patiently waited, busying himself to ignore the vicious voices in his head, suggesting that Ichigo was tired of his pestering, annoyed with his cries for attention, fed up with his neediness.

But now nine-thirty, Renji had nothing left to do, and the voices were starting to convince him that Ichigo was abandoning him, just like everybody else. So he steeled himself, told himself that he knew it would happen, that he was fine with it. But he knew, deep down, that he wasn't fine with it. He'd been trying to ignore it, but he knew he'd gotten too close. Those feelings were resurfacing, and it was getting harder and harder for him to swallow his jealousy. But he couldn't just set the boy back to the edge of his comfort zone – no, that would just torment him to no end. It was all or nothing, except he couldn't bring himself to shut Ichigo out of his life completely. He couldn't push him away. And every time Ichigo came back after straying away with pieces of his heart, Renji gladly accepted him – unquestioningly, unconditionally accepted him again, completely elated by the simple act of being talked to again by this boy.

This boy, who would never know that he and he alone was close enough to the redhead's heart to break it for the second, and possibly last time.

But now it was midnight as Renji sat on the edge of a tall building, losing himself in the dark blanket of twinkling lights as he nursed a half-empty bottle of vanilla Absolut. He welcomed the numbness, and started to entertain amusingly morbid thoughts; _I wonder what would happen if I fell…_ he asked himself, looking down to the nearly empty street below. _Am I too drunk to remember how to save myself? Or would it just be instinctual? Could I keep from doing it and just let myself fall?_ He tilted his head to the side before tipping back another drink of alcohol. _If I fell from this height, would I pass out before I hit the ground? Or would I stay conscious until I'm splattered across the sidewalk? Would I feel it? Would it hurt?_

He sighed, pushing away the thoughts of "what hurts worse," and set the bottle down before taking out his communicator. He flipped it open, knowing there was nothing, but doing it out of habit. There were no hollows out tonight. There was no message from the shinigami substitute. There was nothing except the bottle. Still, he hesitated, his thumb hovering over the text message button.

_He can text me if he cares_, he thought bitterly as he shut the phone with an angry snap and tucked it back where it belonged. But the bitterness didn't hold – it never did. He reminded himself that Ichigo had a life as a human and didn't always have time to spend on somebody so relatively far removed from that life of his. He was auxiliary, secondary, just as Ichigo's life as a shinigami was.

But, of course, still being in the boy's peripheral was what put him on a yo-yo of emotions. If only Ichigo left and never came back. If only he never saw or heard from the boy again. Then, maybe, he could stitch the wounds closed and lock away the emotions again, tighter this time, bury them deeper. He could forget again – he'd done it once before, after all. He refused to entertain the thought that Ichigo was different than Rukia, that the feelings were different.

No, that couldn't be, because there was no such thing as "soul mates," there was merely attraction and care, and there was always the chance of finding that "love" again in somebody else. There couldn't be anything like "destiny" or "fate" playing into it because that would mean that he had no choice in the matter, and he desperately needed that choice to run. But could he take it? That was the issue. He told himself that he could repair the wounds if Ichigo was the one to walk away – he could, because he'd already convinced himself that Ichigo was doing just that – but could he live with himself if he was the one to run?

_Dear god, I'm a coward…_ he sighed, burying his face in his hands. He was so content with standing still, with not taking that risk. He was content, as masochistic as it was, to simply stand there and let his emotions be unwittingly toyed with. He was content with the pain and the frustration, because the one tearing him apart was content with where they were – as long as, of course, if he never knew what he was doing to the man on the inside. He couldn't take the step forward because he was so afraid of Ichigo running away – it was one thing to be abandoned, quite another entirely to be rejected. But he couldn't take the step back, either, because he was afraid of hurting Ichigo, too – he couldn't bring himself to inflict that pain on someone so young.

So he would stay still, keeping the status quo out of nothing but fear. Ichigo would have to make the first move, and, like the stray dog he was, he would follow suit. He would not abandon someone who would not abandon him, nor would he cling to someone who would not want him. He was a stray, yes – guarded, untrusting, uncouth – but he was also a dog – unquestioningly, unconditionally loyal. He just had to find the right person to take him in, the person who would understand him. And the more time Renji spent around him, the more and more he was convinced that Ichigo was this person – the person he would willingly roll over for – and the harder it was getting for him to stay still. But he did, because it had to be Ichigo's call.

And if Ichigo never made the call, Renji would stay still until eternity. _Or until the alcohol kills me, if that's even possible,_ he sighed, knocking back several mouthfuls of the burning liquid. Just a few shots were left to swirl around at the bottom of the bottle. Were he human, he would've passed out by now, thrown up long before, and pissed his pants several times for lack of a bathroom. But he wasn't, and decades upon decades of hard drinking had raised his tolerance for the drink. Even so, he knew he was drunk – his eyelids where getting difficult to keep open, and his vision refused to focus.

The last thing he felt before passing out was the sensation of falling.


End file.
